


Zero Gravity Combustion

by sasuke_anti



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Attempted Genocide of the Burnish, Bad Flirting, Blood and Injury, Brothels, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Dubious Science, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fist Fights, Found Family, Gun Violence, M/M, Mild Language, Slow Burn, Space Opera, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasuke_anti/pseuds/sasuke_anti
Summary: After a humiliating discharge from the royal guard, Galo Thymos expects to ride out his year in exile on a nondescript smuggling ship with little fanfare.That is, until he and his crew are entangled with a displaced prince hellbent on rocking the government to its core.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 27
Kudos: 43





	1. Kindling

_There’s blood_ _— a body. Sticky, metallic human blood. Visions of the mangled body graft to the inside of his eyelids, flashing with every blink. Red, red, red._

_His heartbeat thuds like a drum in his ears; echoing alongside the slap of his feet against the ground and nearly drowned out by the screeching of docking ships. He can taste blood with the tang of overexertion building on his tongue. His limbs scream for a moment’s rest, but he’s still being followed._

_Dissonant clangs of pursuit trail behind. Uniformed boots pounding on metal, terrifying only because of what they mean. Going back._

_Certain death._

_No matter the amount of turns he’s made— ducking below exposed wire and leaping over boxes of tools; squeezing between the hulking limbs of various engineers, mechanics, crew— they catch up. Even now, as he skids around a sharp corner, blue vests and insignia bleed into his peripheral vision._

_—_

Sweat drips down the apple of his cheek; the stifling heat and musty smell of crowded bodies permeating their booth. There’s music, some garbled metal-techno fusion playing loud enough that any sad sap nursing this station’s version of alcohol doesn’t have to drown in their own thoughts. It’s slow enough that their table looks overcrowded, but this isn’t the kind of station where anyone would want to question why.

“What you’re telling me…” The edge of danger in the merchant’s voice is sharp, cutting through the background noise, “Is that half of the shipment didn’t make it?”

Their jobs are risky— sure, it comes with the profession. Scamming a highly regarded tradesman in one of the biggest trade stations in this quadrant? Insanity.

It was all Galo’s idea. He’s beginning to feel a sliver of regret, the tiniest amount, forming a pit in his stomach— seeing eighteen of the guy’s blaster toting pals on standby, all looking a little too ready to get trigger-happy.

It’s the first plan he’s convinced Ignis to run with, reluctantly or otherwise. If the payoff is as good as Galo is sure it will be, it’ll be a score worth more than their last few jobs combined.

“I said what I said. You not paying attention?” Ignis doesn’t back down, thick arms crossed in front of him.

His sunglasses have slipped down to the edge of his nose, forcing eye contact, as best possible with a creature sporting eight eyes.

Each eye blinks at a different millisecond, a flickering effect in the dim blue fluorescence of the bar. It’d be more unsettling if their last job hadn’t been sponsored by a _kotsk_ — anthropomorphic slugs with an insatiable hunger for keratin. Galo hadn’t considered a shaved head since his early bootcamp days, but seeing the guy salivate over it had almost pushed him to the drastic decision.

The _bulv_ merchant doesn’t take Ignis’ nonchalance well, eyes squinting and shuttering at a more rapid pace.

“You hadn’t thought to notify of this disappointment before docking? That’s a loss of 16.5 billion credits, human.”

And yet, if the shipment had truly been “lost”, it would have been a hit of nearly double that. He’d thought it sounded suspicious initially, but Aina had double checked— _triple_ checked when she learned Galo was the one who brought the discrepancy forward. Malg is the original scammer.

Galo is just setting the record straight.

—

_His feet can’t force themselves further, heels rubbed raw by the textured grating of the docks. The closest escape he can see through the haze of exhaustion is the stunted ramp to a smaller ship. There’s a moment of hesitation, considering how easily he can be cornered on a ship like that. The only option other than continuing to run, is throwing himself off the dock and into the chasm below._

_He’s incapable of fighting any longer. Whatever threat lurking within the ship can’t be worse than those searching for him._

_He forces his body up the ramp and through the chilled entrance into a storage bay, heaving breaths amplified by the confined space._

_Large boxes and crates occupy most of the area, tied down and providing little shelter. There isn’t a soul in sight, only the hum of machinery on standby. The overhead lights were on before his arrival. The wonder of this space hasn’t been gone long_ — _or might not be gone at all._

_There are three exits from the room: the entrance from which he came, one that looks to be towards a bridge, and a darkened highway to his left. He has a better chance of finding a weak panel to peel into, further into the ship. Limping into the hallway, muscles stiffening from overuse, he can’t resist continuing to dart looks behind him._

_Focused on the stretch of hallway, he doesn’t notice the dirty tarp slung over the middle of the hallway._

_One shaky step and his leg plunges through a covered gap in the flooring._

—

“Don’t you think we can work something out?” Galo offers.

It’s the wrong thing to say, he realizes immediately— the effect in the merchant visible the second he closes on the last syllable of his sentence. Aina, to his left, mutters a curse.

“Work something out?” Malg begins to puff up, rage flooding his opaque flesh with royal blue blood. A sure sign of a pissed off alien. The thugs around them begin to move, limbs shifting the tips of blasters from below the edge of the table into visibility.

“I don’t think it’s as big of a deal as you’re making it to be.” Galo scrambles to pull his foot from his mouth, stumbling in his misstep.

The slam of Malg’s fist on the table is the last warning he needs. Ignis gives him an equally silencing glare from the corner of his eye, pointedly scratching his nose. A signal.

They wouldn’t be able to return to this station, not for many cycles. Galo makes a mental note to leave the negotiating to Ignis— or Aina, or even Vinny, with how badly and quickly this went to shit.

Galo pulls the cigarette from the inside pocket of his jacket, ignoring the slight shake of his wrist. Flicking the companion lighter on, there is a low hum audible, a compact red laser igniting the tip of the paper. It’s bright enough to make him squint.

His long exhale of blue-tinged smoke further irritates Malg.

“I did not come here to be mocked, Ignis Ex!” Like a child in full throes of it’s tantrum, he slams his hand again, rocking the table. The clatter of dishes and cups begin to draw eyes.

For a prolonged moment, the two groups stare each other down; three versus an estimated nineteen. His thugs are in various states of intimidation, posturing excessively. Sweat begins to collect at Galo’s hairline, sticking the leather of his jacket to his neck. If Lucia hadn’t caught the signal—

The music cuts off, sweeping silence through the room, swiftly replacing the shock with a siren and an automated recording.

Malg and his goons go rigid as the bar’s atmosphere descends into panic.

REMAIN CALM. THIS AREA HAS BEEN QUARANTINED BY AN ISSUED WARRANT OF THE GOVERNOR. GET DOWN ON THE GROUND. REFUSAL WILL BE MET WITH REQUIRED FORCE.

Some comply immediately, flattening their various figures to the floor. Others bolt for the exits, fearing discovery more than a death sentence.

THIS IS NOT A REQUEST.

Galo takes the opportunity, amidst their orchestrated distraction, to slip from the table.

YOUR GOVERNMENT THANKS YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.

He doesn’t have to look at Malg to know he’s curled on the ground along with the rest of his men. As a tradesman with ties to the government, serving his own interests in his down time, he can’t afford to piss them off.

Ignis and Aina have already broken from the table, pushing through the crowd. Galo follows their example, bracing his shoulders as people push past him in panic so as not to be bowled over.

Outside the siren is clear— along with the mechanic, but smooth-toned, recall of the recording. Anything with sensory abilities is vacating the area.

Lucia is unhooking her system from the mainframe of their setup, conveniently located just outside in the alley directly to the left. She’s typing into her smaller table with quickfire clicks, squatting in the dirt and shielded from street view by trash bins.

Malg is stupid, but not stupid enough to stick around long if federal officers fail to make an appearance. The plan is to be gone long before that happens, but Lucia seems stressed.

“Lucia?” Aina is nearly bouncing on her toes, eyes darting towards the ebbing stream of panicked patrons. If they’re discovered here, bloodshed is guaranteed.

They’ve gone through this scenario dozens of times; a four man scheme, hooking up to the sound system or mainframe of the joint— play the siren, nab the loot, fly away, rinse and repeat. Lucia has always been disconnected before they step outside. This time— it’s supposed to be a back up plan, as they didn’t have enough time to case the bar before docking.

“They’ve got a lock on the port,” She hisses, tugging on the thin black cable to demonstrate, “I can’t disconnect without ripping the primary cord and corrupting the files I’ve placed.”

The air in Galo’s lungs fizzles out.

“How long to disengage the mechanism?” Aina asks.

“I don’t know… Maybe five, maybe less.”

Aina shares a look with Ignis, a mix of panic and resignation. Neither of them look to Galo, which causes a weird stinging disappointment.

“We’re going to have to leave it.” Ignis says with finality.

Lucia’s rebuttal is cut off by a deafening crash around the corner. From the doorway to the bar.

Aina shrieks and Lucia startles so hard she tears the cord right out of the wall.

Snarling, Malg rounds the corner with his skinny legs scrabbling along the ground. Gnashing teeth, unblinking eyes— the bulv is ready to murder.

Galo extends his hand to grab at Lucia’s shoulder, to haul her to her feet so they can make an escape, but grasps air. A glance down and then to the opposite end of the alley, he can see the backs of his crew-mates growing smaller by the second.

Malg’s inhuman screech has him hot on their heels.

—

Galo has experienced many good take-offs; little to no turbulence, formal approval from port officials, and everything secured in its place. It doesn’t involve a murderous arachnid-alien, seconds from clambering onboard.

It’s the worst take-off he’s experienced since the incident on Helion.

Galo has barely hurled himself into the loading bay before Aina is forcing them into the sky. Malg’s howl of anger is overwhelmed by the rush of air whistling past his ears.

“The door!” Galo scrambles across the bay towards the bridge, scraping hands and knees against the ground. If the door isn’t shut or he doesn’t find a place to anchor, he’ll be sucked right out, “The DOOR!”

The ship shudders and creaks, violently rocking side to side as it rises, impeded by the opening in the back. A loud snap and prolonged whirring tells Galo that Aina has finally hit the mechanism. He manages to scrape himself to his feet, stumbling forward— the suction behind him tugging at his clothes. Splinters from the cargo crates dot his fingers as he uses them for leverage.

Up the short stairs and through the long hallway, he manages to fight against the angle of the ship to the bridge.

Varys grins at him as he enters the bridge, already secured into his seat, “Weren’t sure you were going to make it, newbie.”

Galo throws himself into the seat to his left, audibly grumbling as he buckles himself into safety. It’s not the first time he’s been nearly left behind— and he’s sure it’s not the last. In this line of work, unprofitable bodies cost too much to keep around.

Nothing can prepare his stomach for the swoop of adrenaline as they launch upwards, the closed bay door allowing them to pick up speed. Aina’s tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrates, the entire ship shaking as they puncture through the sky and into the outer layers of the station’s protective covering.

“Lucia?” Galo asks, noticing the occupancy of the other seat.

He watches Ignis, on Aina’s right, tap on the flight dashboard. The digital keys light up green and fade as he hits them, quiet clicking noises mimicking an old age keyboard.

“Engine.” Varys offers.

Likely to be making sure they can continue their straight shot off the station, without plummeting right back to where they came from. Lucia is pretty go with the flow, but even an escape like this can have her frazzled.

In the short time Galo’s worked with them, he’s only experienced a truly frazzled Lucia twice. It’s not something he enjoys repeating.

As soon as the turbulence subsides, Ignis heaves a long sigh. The vacuum of space provides much smoother sailing. Galo’s legs are beginning to stiffen from overuse, aching. The sweat has settled into something cooler, sticky against everything. He wants a shower.

He clicks a release on the buckles of the chair, standing to fulfill his desire when Ignis hits the intercom.

“Lucia?” He asks.

At first, nothing. It makes Galo hesitate.

Aina pushes the autopilot lever forward with a few slow clicks, leaning back in her seat. She looks as ruffled as Galo feels from the encounter. Her hair is falling out of the tie at the top of her head; looking like pink, wet spaghetti.

Ignis hits the intercom again, allowing the buzz to extend. Only resounding static greets the room. A dull worry begins to build, restarting the thrum of anxiety from their narrow escape.

“You saw Lucia board?” Ignis turns in his seat to eye Varys.

It's the look he'd given Galo earlier in the bar— a distinct _don't fuck around_. Before he can answer, the intercom crackles to life.

“ _I’m here. Just cleaning up the mess_.”

The room heaves a sigh of relief, the worst of their worries dispelled with Lucia’s chipper voice.

“I’m inputting coordinates to V4 now. There shouldn’t be any problem getting there. Right?”

Galo goes to make his exit to nab a shower before someone else can, but the intercom halts him once again.

“ _About that…_ ” Lucia’s hum crackles with static.

“What is it?”

“ _Hmm… Just send the newbie. I think he’ll be able to fix the problem."_ All eyes turn towards him.

“Copy.” Ignis responds, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I’m going to go see if there is anything to scrape up for a meal.” Varys also unbuckles himself.

He doesn’t linger for verbal confirmation, stepping around Galo, not needing explicit permission when cooking. He's the only one with any skill at producing an edible meal.

“I was going to take a shower.” Galo tries, hoping to at least accomplish that before submitting himself to menial labor for Lucia.

Her last request had resulted in hours of lifting— searching for a wing nut lost amongst the chaos that is her engine room. It turned out Vinny had been holding onto it for safekeeping, and hadn’t offered it up until explicitly asked.

Ignis gives him a flat look, guaranteeing non-negotiability.

“Got it.” Galo sighs, “I’ll take care of it and shower later…”

Ignis nods, turning back to the keys. Galo hears the telltale tapping of typing as he exits the bridge, towards the loading bay.

It's dark without overhead lights and the long stretch of shadows along the metal provide air cold enough to settle goosebumps beneath his jacket. A flash of light through a single porthole on the long wall catches his eye.

He approaches the circle of glass to gaze out into the vacuum. Just as he isn’t able to adjust to the rush of lift-off, he is also unable to prepare for the sight of twinkling nothingness. A mind-bending horizon of darkness and promise.

Amongst it is the gleam of the station they just abandoned— winking goodbye. They won’t be allowed to dock there again if Malg’s story reaches the ears of local merchants. The trade stations in this quadrant are all the same, so the loss of his partnership doesn’t sting as much as it should. There will be other tradesmen.

What stings, is that the disaster falls on Galo’s shoulders. Even if Ignis had agreed to the plan, he hadn’t agreed to the loss of Lucia’s program. The loss will set them back; they had been using it since before hiring Galo.

He’d only been with them a few months— a year long contract after his disastrous stint working directly for the Governor’s personal guard. Ignis had given him a chance when no one else would. His crew-mates are gruff with him, a little wary— but Galo is so sure that they were on the brink of growing much closer.

He hopes his fuck-up doesn’t set them back.

Another lingering look through the window, and Galo departs. When he rounds the corner from the loading bay, he’s surprised to see Lucia in the hallway rather than within the engine room.

She’s crouched over the hole in the middle of the floor— the hole she’d cut without permission the week prior. Varys hadn’t gotten around to closing it, and Lucia had covered with a tarp in the hopes Ignis would forget. It wasn't often that anyone had reason to go into the disaster that is the engine room without Lucia's express request, so it's likely he had.

Lucia notices him lingering and motions for him to come close with a tiny hand, “Come look.”

Galo thinks her tone sounds a tad too excited, so he approaches with careful steps.

“What is it?” He cranes his neck to get a look, seeing only darkness and the edges of the beat-up tarp along the rim.

Lucia gives her full shark-teeth grin, voice low, “Someone’s in there.”

Galo feels the air being squeezed out of his lungs. The hole would be sizable enough for someone of Aina or Lucia’s stature to slip into, maybe Remi, if he was truly determined. But Lucia is in front of him, Remi is waiting for them at the next drop-off, and he’d left Aina in the bridge.

They’ve got a stowaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey there. LOL
> 
> This is different from some of the other things I've posted, as I am picking up the characters and planting them in my own au rather than working in canon. I just love the idea of sticking them IN space, and I just love this movie (I've been obsessed since I've seen it).
> 
> (I originally wrote this for a different fandom but I've packed my boxes and moved on, oops)
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please leave me a comment, let me know what you think, and a kudos if you liked it ♡! I hope to update pretty regularly, but ofc, that is no guarantee. 
> 
> see u soon (socially distanced smooch) ♡


	2. Accelerant

The pit is utter darkness without an overhead light to reveal its contents. Galo can only hear movement, a telltale crackling of something heavy against plastic. Whatever it was, wasn't moving a second ago. They're listening.

"There's an air shaft down there," Lucia teeters on her toes to get a better look into the gap, unconcerned.

An air shaft means an opening to free reign throughout the rest of the ship. Towards the bridge, living quarters. Bad news— beyond bad. He's dealt with enough wharf rat infestations to know the system of shafts is truly a gateway, and something that doesn't want to be found can hide exceptionally well within the tunnels.

Purpose rises in Galo's chest, shoving aside the expected panic. No better time than the present to take charge and prove himself. He'll take any opportunity he can get.

"Call the bridge— pull the alarm," He looks to Lucia, tampering down the overexcitement in his voice, "We need to notify the Cap that we've got an intruder."

A forceful rattle of metal comes from below their feet— then scurries away.

Lucia serves him a puzzled look. She draws herself fully to her feet but doesn't move.

"We don't have time to lose!" He's exasperated.

She puckers her lips, giving him a flat squint, "You're not the boss of me, y'know."

Even so, she swivels on her heel towards the engine room.

Galo leans towards the pit to listen for a hint of sound as to where the intruder might have gone, but the scrabble of movement against metal has vanished. He darts a glance down the hallway, assuming that they will burrow further into the ship rather than being cornered. A heavy step, and his assumption is proven wrong by a harsh bang from directly within the engine room.

He jerks his head to where he can still see Lucia hovering in the doorway.

Without confirming what she can see, adrenaline coursing, he bolts past her. He vaults over a mech arm blocking the direct path into the room, courtesy of their rough take off, and skids around an overturned workbench to where the emergency alarm sits. He yanks the lever down, wincing when the piercing siren echoes through the room and then the remainder of the ship.

Galo whips his head to scan for the intruder, only to realize he's looking down the barrel of a blaster.

Their stowaway stands in front of the kicked out frame of one of the long vents along the side of the powered-down mechs.

He— Galo thinks it's a he— is tiny in contrast to the hulking limbs of the robots. He's dirty and haggard, the jutting edges of his figure amplified by the shadows produced by the spinning red light of the siren. Loose fitting, stained clothes hang off his frame. He looks young, young enough to be a kid, but with an aim steadier than most of the guys Galo enlisted with.

The siren ends abruptly, red giving way to the off-white lighting of the engine room. One of their crew mates had to have turned the alarm off— so at least, they're aware of a problem.

Galo opens his mouth to speak but the stranger shushes him.

"I want to speak to the leader of this ship." Galo has never met a kid with a voice that deep, that's for sure.

Indignant at the insinuation of his rank, Galo huffs.

"How do you know _I'm_ not the leader?" He asks.

"You're not." The guy answers.

Galo feels his chest puff up, chin tilting upwards in defiance, "But how would you know that?"

Lucia reminds him of her presence, taking a wide step over the dismantled machinery in the doorway.

"I have more authority than you," She mutters.

She's right— technically. He's on contract and she's an official crew member. But, he takes part in way more planet side missions than she does; those that result in a majority of the income for the ship. If she didn't take on the maintenance of the ship herself, he would argue she hardly brought in any money at all.

There's nothing he wants to do more than point it out, but the stranger flicks his thumb over the safety of the blaster. It begins to hum in a steady buzz, signaling its readiness to fire.

"I want to speak to the leader." He says, again.

The distinct crackle of the intercom erupts from behind Galo's shoulder— Ignis.

Lucia steps up to it, with much less concern for her safety than Galo would expect. She pushes the button to answer, "Lucia, speaking."

" _The alarm was on purpose_?" Ignis asks, unamused.

"Yessir," Lucia answers, "We've got a stowaway down here that wants to talk to you."

A prolonged pause, and then Ignis says, " _Copy_ ," before the intercom goes quiet again.

Galo imagines he's consulting with Varys and Aina, preparing to store the engine room with guns blazing. Ignis is old school military— though Galo hasn't witnessed anything to suggest his experience, he's fired up at the opportunity to participate. He's ready to take the blaster shot, if it means saving the ship from hostile takeover.

"Stay behind me," He tells Lucia, rolling his shoulders.

Despite saying this, he notices the intruder's eyes haven't strayed from him— uninterested in gunning down anyone but him. Lucia agrees anyways, a hint in her tone implying amusement.

There's no time to dwell on what she finds funny. Working as a royal guardsman was a fluff job at times— they certainly never experienced a hostage situation during his year of service, being that the Governor didn't leave the capitol. He left off-worlding to his officials like Biar or Vulcan. Dissenters never made it through the atmosphere, let alone close enough to cause actual harm. But, muscle is what he's been hired for. He'll protect everyone however a way he can think to do so.

Cutting through the tension, the pound of boots on metal signals Ignis' approach. Confident, heavy steps— but just his. They halt just before the entrance of the room.

With the sound, Galo notices a tremor in the stranger's wrist, but it stills as quickly as it had come.

"I'm the captain," Ignis' steady voice enters the room from around the corner, "the kind that doesn't appreciate crew being held up on my ship."

No guns blazing, then.

"This isn't favorable for any of us, then. I had no choice." Their intruder doesn't sound remorseful in the least.

That kind of statement bothers the hell out of Galo— having "no choice". The guy chose to come on the ship and point a gun at his face, that's for sure.

"What is it you want, kid?" Ignis asks.

A second tremor, but rather in their intruder's eyebrow. He looks almost irritated, taking a long pause.

Galo has nearly run out of patience when he finds his voice again.

"I got caught up with the local police on the station and barely got away. This ship was the closest place for me to hide," He speaks robotically, "I just want to meet up with my own guys."

He takes too long to speak, his story too clipped— Galo thinks it sounds like a lie

Ignis says, "With all due respect, that isn't my problem."

He rounds the corner to walk into full view, unflappable as he steps over the arm with a long stride.

"Be careful, Cap." Galo warns.

He maps the distance between them with his eyes, wondering if he has the ability to shield Ignis from a blast, should the guy turn on him.

Another pause and flicker in their intruder's stoicism, from the additional furrowing of his brows.

Then, "I'll pay you. Like a job."

"We don't do that kind of work, kid," Ignis counters, "And if you caused that much trouble with the police, we're better off dropping you where you came from."

In Galo's three months, they haven't transported a single passenger despite various requests. Political figures looking for a discreet route to a risqué getaway, or worry wart merchants wanting to accompany the merchandise— Ignis has turned them all down.

"Respectfully," The intruder mimics Ignis' previously polite tone, "Your departure was too quick to have been cleared with the station. I know a smuggling ship when I see one."

He's not wrong— dodging Malg meant cutting corners, which could result in enough fines to make the job's pay moot. This quadrant takes docking procedures seriously, more so than even Capitol parking.

Ignis hums, one of his considering hums that Galo recognizes from his time being included in negotiations. It's not a bullshit _hmmmmm_ or _hm_ , but rather a too-telling _hmm_. Their captain is actually considering it.

"How much is this job worth to you?" He asks, "And where would we be dropping you?"

"One-fifty." Intruder answers without hesitation.

"Thousand?" Galo asks— incredulity stark in his tone.

Chump change; it's not enough for a decent bowl of ramen at a refueling station.

"Billion."

Sticker shock silences the room, the machinery even running quieter in the face of that kind of money. It's an absurd number, especially with how serious the guy looks. There isn't the flicker of a joke or tremor of a lie. He truly intends to pay one-hundred-and-fifty billion credits for a ride. It must be a hell of a distance, or he's in a hell of a lot of trouble.

"I need to get to Detroit."

Detroit is a formerly colony planet, half-desert, half-snowscape and nowhere near far enough away to justify a price tag that high. It signals every red flag in Galo's brain to go off like a confetti cannon.

"How can we get proof of payment?" Ignis doesn't share his sentiment, "We can't transport you on word alone. You don't look like the type of kid to have that kind of money."

"Take me to the nearest planet. I'll give you half now, half on arrival. Insurance."

Ignis hums, another of the considering type, "Insurance."

Galo has had enough of this considering crap. There's no way this guy has the kind of money they're talking about, and besides—

"Do you not realize he is threatening to kill me?" He's bewildered at their blatant disregard for his safety.

For the first time, their intruder's expression truly morphs. His nose wrinkles, like Galo is the dumbest thing he's ever laid eyes on; almost horrified.

"Are you seriously stupid?" He asks.

Lucia gives a huff of a laugh, a sound that only adds to Galo's confusion. Ignis' consideration, Lucia's laugh— everyone seems to know something he doesn't and it's driving him mad.

"It's a tempting offer," Ignis rolls right over his confusion, drawing the attention back, "We're already on course for V4, if that's reasonable."

His expression settles, flickering from Galo to Ignis, "That works for me."

"We've got a deal, then."

Galo bursts through their conversation yet again, voice shrill from disbelief at what he is witnessing, "There's no way this guy is telling the truth!"

It doesn't make sense for Ingis to give him the benefit of the doubt— especially considering the circumstances. He takes a step towards the scrawny guy, jabbing a finger in his direction.

"No way!"

In response, the guy pulls the trigger.

Galo closes his eyes in a flinch, expecting the worst as his stomach drops all the way to his ankles. He expects a sharp pain, a singed hole punched through him in an instant. Instead, the engine room echoes with a small tune. It's a jingle from a federation cereal commercial.

_Blasty-O's, Blasty-O's. Blasty-Oh-Oh-Oh's—_

It's a toy.

Lucia bursts into obnoxious laughter, Vinny's equally insidious cackle muffled alongside hers. The little bastard must have been hiding in her coat to avoid conflict.

"It's a toy." The intruder sets the gun on the crate next to him, near the overturned workbench where Lucia must have left it.

The little trinket is exactly the kind of thing she collects. He's embarrassed to realize he didn't notice it right away. She's given him tidbits about her time before being the ship's mechanic— growing up in a Capitol academy where genius was prided over everything, and a distinct lack of free time. She spends a lot of time on the ship tinkering with "toys", ranging from cereal box plastic to the mechs lining the engine room. He thinks she even pointed that same gun at him over dinner the previous night.

For all this guy knew, she could've rigged it to shoot. He had a right to be afraid, he justifies to himself, heat crawling up his neck in embarrassment.

"Did you notice?!" He asks Ignis, scandalized.

"You have a name?" Ignis chooses to ignore Galo's humiliation, an answer in and of itself.

"It's Lio." Their intruder answers.

He doesn't provide anything further, despite the pressuring stare Ignis issues.

Ignis pushes at his glasses with a shrug, "I won't pretend these circumstances were welcome. I'm Ignis Ex," then gestures to Lucia, who peeks around Galo's shoulder, and Galo himself, "This is Lucia— our mechanic, and Galo."

He gives Galo a flat look, like he has more to say, but decides against it, returning his attention to Lio, "I don't want any additional discord. If you fall out of line, you're off the ship. Docked, or not."

The threat is harsh, the iciness of it cooling some of the embarrassment and indignant warmth on Galo's skin. Being thrown out of an air lock is no timid statement.

Lio nods, his own tone cool, "Understood."

No longer threatened, his shoulders relax just slightly and he now has the air of someone who doesn't know what to do with themselves.

Galo has to force his own shoulders to relax, reeling from the whiplash this whole situation has given him. One second, an enemy— now a client? It's a lot to process.

"You'll watch over him until we dock." Ignis turns to him, pointed finger unmistaken in its target.

Galo splutters, "Why is it my job all of a sudden?!"

He can understand the need for someone to watch a stranger on board, but _him_?

"You were looking for more responsibility, weren't you?" Ignis tips his head forward to give him a stern look over the dark rims of his glasses, "Now you have it."

It's not what he had in mind when asking for more to do on the ship. Watching over a fake-gun toting maniac and hoping nothing goes wrong doesn't exactly fall within his job description.

Lio's semi-neutral expression slips into something sour, but he offers no verbal objection. He gives Galo the barest shrug when he turns to look at him.

"I'll consider everything wrapped up here. I'm heading back to the bridge," Ignis sighs, and turns to leave, "I don't want to hear another peep from any of you until we're docking. Shower, sleep, eat— whatever keeps you useful and out of the way."

He strolls away without further instruction.

Lucia takes a wide step around Galo, looking particularly pleased until Ignis' voice reaches back into the room.

"Cover up the damn hole, Lucia!" He barks.

She huffs a quiet, "Yeah, yeah," in response.

She diverts her interest to the ship's newest occupant instead, hopping over spilled mechanical guts to get a closer look.

"Lio, _hmm_?" Lucia has no reservations about leaning within his personal space, scanning him up and down, "What did you do to get in trouble with the police?"

"It doesn't matter." Lio says, curt.

In Galo's opinion, it should matter. For whatever reason, Ignis has placed his modicum of trust in a scrawny dude like this— it doesn't seem right. He's up to no good. Part of him hopes he's a whole scam, so they can dump him on V4 with no remorse.

"You've got a lot of blood on your clothes," Lucia remarks on the stains, reaching out for the edge of his shirt but Lio steps just out of her range.

"It's not mine."

It sounds like something a hard-ass in a movie would say. Galo is unimpressed.

"Such bullshit." He snorts at the seriousness of Lio's tone.

"Anyways," He gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders to prove how unbothered by the whole thing he is, despite the irritation simmering in his stomach, "I don't want to babysit you forever, so we should get a move on."

He steps over the mechanical arm for what he hopes is the last time without waiting for Lio to follow. Galo might be the lowest rung in the ladder here, but a stowaway turned client is even less so. He's not going to let the situation crawl under his skin— and he's especially not going to let Lio think he's won, or anything similar. Ignis asked him to do something, and he will.

After walking most of the way through the hallway, he realizes he doesn't hear any steps behind him. He glances back, almost flinching when he sees Lio is directly behind him, silent.

Lio gives him an indignant look, "I need a shower."

It's like icing on a shit cake— this stranger stealing the only thing Galo has ever wanted in his life: claiming a shower before he can.

He whips around again, muttering, "What you really need is an attitude adjustment."

Lio gives a loud, pointed sigh, but follows him to the personal quarters without further objection.

There is a locker-room style shower shared between the crew. A flimsy, plastic curtain is the only barrier between the shower head and the rest of the room. Despite his initial worries, Galo has never had anyone walk in on him. Remi usually pens out a schedule of who showers, when.

Galo scrutinizes Lio's figure for a moment, scratching at his chin. He's not about to give up any of his own clothes— not that they'd fit. The storage clothes will just have to do, if he doesn't want to put his bloody, burlap sack of an outfit back on.

"The only extra clothes we have are left over from when the ship was a firefighting unit." He pops open one of the upper metal cabinets, dodging the cloud of dust that fans out from the motion. He grabs the smallest set he can see and holds it out for Lio to take.

Lio does so without a thank you.

"You're welcome." Galo corrects him.

Lio sends him a blank look, before unfolding the clothes to inspect them without another word.

His attitude sucks, considering how far they're willing to go for him. Money or not, other captains would have killed him or sent him flying with the slightest hint of an attitude. Galo's time in the royal guard instilled at least basic respect— something Lio so clearly lacks.

It instills a piece of worry alongside the anger— that Lio might do something to cause harm to one of his crew mates. Galo knows Ignis threatened him, but he's not sure what kind of effect it has on a guy who doesn't seem to care about anything.

"I don't trust you." He says.

Lio's gaze flickers to him.

"I don't care about that." He scowls.

"You should." Galo shrugs, leaning against the closed locker.

Lio turns away from him with the air of a snooty dog, nose upturned enough. He stomps over to the shower, not even heavy enough to make a threatening noise, and swings the curtain to the side.

After a moment of hesitation, he turns his attention back to Galo. He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Galo is unbothered.

Lio taps one of his feet impatiently, and then asks, "Are you just going to watch? I'm not paying for that."

A familiar humiliation sears it's way up Galo's neck, pulse spiking.

"I'm not!" He balks, putting his hands up in defense. He whirls away towards the entrance, flustered, "I'll just wait outside!"

As if there's even something to watch, he tells himself, a guy like that?

Aside from the fact that romantic entanglements aren't encouraged onboard, he'd rather watch Ignis shower with no curtain, than this guy.

"Never in a million years!" He says definitively into the void, loud enough that it carries down the hall.

The only response is the hiss of water being turned on.

—

It hurts.

Lio leans against his forearm on the chilled shower wall, lips pressed tight to prevent pained groans from escaping as he rinses his stomach. The wound pulses and aches with the heat of the water, his knees weak just from the distress of holding the wound beneath the spray.

Peeling off the under layer of his shirt had ripped the scabbing of the blaster shot away with it, revealing the charred, pink gape of his stomach. His feet ache similarly; shallow cuts stinging as a result of the soap swirling down the drain.

Stomping and crawling around a ship's gutter did little to alleviate the pain.

If he wasn't so bone-deep tired, he would have healed by now. His inner flame is all but extinguished by exhaustion, flaring with each spark of anger but ultimately dormant. It's still there, but unable to recharge. He's dead on his feet and vulnerable.

There are worse places he could have ended up.

He's at least thankful that Galo had been the one to storm the engine room. The man is probably the only human in the galaxy stupid enough to be held up by a toy gun. Admittedly, it had been a convincing replica; he'd been fooled before scooping it off the floor, but the weight was all wrong. If the oaf had realized and charged him before he could get his terms out, his stomach wound would be the least of his worries.

A good rest is all he needs to recover.

Part of him hopes to keep Galo as his little watchdog, despite how infuriating he is. He's likely the only one unobservant enough to give the slip. Ignis had seemed friendly, naive— but he was not to be underestimated. He could tell by his gait that the man was no fool. All the more reason to get out of his sight as quickly as possible.

Lio turns off the shower with a shaky grip, steadying himself before pushing off the wall. Ignoring the need to dry off, he grabs the clothes from the ground and slips them over his dripping form. Despite the age, the clothes are the nicest thing he's had in a while. It's nothing like the hand-stitched comforts of the clothes from his home world, but even garish orange and black are infinitely better than the itchy clothes from federal transport.

He kicks the bloodstained clothes crumpled on the floor to the side with a hint of disgust. Slipping socks over his sore feet is no easy task, but he refuses to walk around the ship with no covering to separate his open wounds from the grime.

"I'm finished." Lio says as he peeks his head from the room, somewhat surprised to see Galo is still lingering.

Despite knowing the repercussions of leaving a stranger on a ship with nothing to do, his faith in Galo's ability to think ahead is nonexistent.

Galo turns to look at him, eyes going wide. He gives him dumb look— silent, open mouth making Lio uncomfortable.

A prolonged moment, and then he seems to recover.

"About time!" His surprised expression morphs into a scowl.

Indignant, Lio returns the scowl, "I bet your showers are twice as long with a stupid mop like that."

He's not sure why someone would willingly keep that much hair on top of their head— let alone, willingly take the time to style it. His own cropped cut is born of necessity rather than vanity.

"It's not stupid." Galo's resulting glare proves Lio's assumption.

Galo reaches up to smooth some of his hair back, Lio's insult hitting a nerve.

"Do you want food or not?" He asks like it's an ultimatum.

"I'm not hungry."

The scowl shifts back to surprise, but Lio can't even focus on food with the rippling pain in his stomach. He needs to lay down. It's been days since he had any kind of restful sleep.

It could be foolish of him to sleep on a ship full of strangers but it's the warmest environment he's been in, for months, and there's low-to-no risk of him being jerked awake to be beaten or interrogated.

It's a risk he has to take to keep moving.

"You'll probably disintegrate if you don't eat something..." Galo says, tone serious— eyes trained on Lio's small figure, "You're like halfway there, already."

"I didn't ask for your opinion." Lio says with a flat tone, shutting him down, "I want to be taken somewhere to sleep."

He crosses his arms in front of him, a makeshift shield to what he knows is a judging gaze. He doesn't think Galo would understand the first thing about priorities— Lio's, is healing the worsening hole in his gut, and finding a way off of this ship.

Galo rolls his eyes. Refusing to continue to argue, he instead continues down the hall. He stops in front of one of the metal doors, hitting numbers into the keypad so it slides open.

"The only spare is in here, since the ship doesn't do passengers." He jerks his thumb into the room.

It's dark and mostly vacant, offering little in the way of comfort, with bunk beds and almost no walking room. There's clothes thrown on about every surface, but all Lio can focus on is the pillow sitting at the end of the bottom bunk. He can't remember the last time he had an actual pillow.

As if pulled by a string, he walks to the bed and lays to claim it for himself, curling up on instinct. The cushioning against his neck is enough to make the entire situation worthwhile.

"Hey!" Galo tries to cut through his peace, "That's my bunk! You need to go to the top!"

"I didn't ask." Lio murmurs, eyelids feeling impossibly heavy.

He's not sure if Galo heard him and can't bring himself to care. The complaints bounce off his back, settling into the static of external noise.

Lio wouldn't give up this sleep for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and our boy makes an appearance!!! Lio Fotia WOO WOO WOOOOO, ohhh the enemies to lovers vibes are strong, my friends
> 
> I don't usually write this fast but.... I'm excited about this fic. It's a concept that has been on my mind for a loooooong time, so I'm just thrilled to put it to paper (or the internet, wtvs)
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you for giving this a try! I know that ongoing fics are a challenge, considering the possibility that they might never get finished but here you are!!! ( ˊ̱˂˃ˋ̱ )♡ I really appreciate you!
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed (even a little bit)! I'd love love love to know if anything stuck out to you, or what you think might happen!
> 
> I finally started using my twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/sasuke_anti). I need people to follow so please feel free to engage me there! Right now I'm kind of just talking to myself lmao so don't hesitate!
> 
> See you soon ( ˊ̱˂˃ˋ̱ )♡ Stay Safe!


	3. Matchstick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW : brothels, discussions of human trafficking/people being sold, tags have been updated to reflect this
> 
> I personally feel that the mentions are very mild, but I'd much rather be safe than sorry!

Hours and hours drag by; each second wearing on Galo’s exhaustion like metal on whetstone, sharpening the edge and making it more palpable. He huffs in his seat, squinting against the blinding yellow-white of Venus IV’s atmosphere through the windshield.

They’re forty-five minutes from final approach and Galo hasn’t managed a wink of sleep. The parasite has hogged his bunk for the entirety of the twelve hour journey. Galo attempted everything to wake him, aside from yanking him out of the bed by his scrawny ankles — something he figured Ignis wouldn’t condone. The brat refused to move, either feigning sleep or truly unconscious. 

Instead, Galo remained in the bridge, stretched out on one of the chairs in pursuit of sleep. The closest he came was four hours prior, but Aina had jerked them to the side and he smacked his elbow into the metal of the chair. The pain was enough to knock away any hope of sleep, radiating through his entire arm.

_ Big rock _ , she shrugged, none too apologetic.

Galo rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, hard enough to see little specks begin to swim. He thinks they might be the last of his sanity, brain cells detaching from sleep deprivation and floating to freedom.

“Didn’t I say to keep out of the way?”

When he blinks them open, dazed, Ignis looms over him.

Galo sinks further into his chair, grumbling, “Guy is in my bunk… couldn’t sleep.”

Ignis isn’t impressed by his excuse, eyebrows raised over the edge of his sunglasses. He turns away before Galo can feel his expression sour.

For once, he wishes Ignis wasn’t so easy going. He voices this, a quiet rumble of a question, “Why’d you let him on the ship anyways, cap?”

It doesn’t make sense to Galo, from a business standpoint or otherwise. It’s not just a personal grudge, though that simmers in his chest. They don’t know anything about the guy. Not a last name, where he came from, why he was in trouble with the police, or why he wants to go somewhere like Detroit. Lio is an enigma — and not in a cool, mysterious way.

Ignis settles into his own seat.

“To be honest, he reminded me of you.” He says after a hum of thought.

The exhaustion floods out of Galo in an instant, replaced by a pricke of offense. “ _ Me? _ ” He demands, indignant.

They have absolutely nothing in common, aside from what appears to be a stubborn streak.

“Think about it.” Is all Ignis says.

So Galo does, crossing his arms in front of him. Sure, he also had basically nothing to his name when he met Ignis for the first time. No marketability, no prospects, no reason to be considered trustworthy with a dishonorable discharge on his record — but Ignis gave him a chance, on account of him looking like a solid guy.

Lio — not a solid guy. He looks like he’ll blow away in a mild breeze.

It helps, Galo supposes, that everyone in Ignis’ crew has a raging problem with the establishment. His bad record hadn’t been damning to them like it was for other companies searching for an extra hand. Lio, bloody and on the run, was the type they should have solidarity with.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Aina pipes up, swiveling in her chair, “There’s lots of things a stranger could get up to onboard… and we’ve never had a stowaway situation before.”

Galo nods fervently.

Ignis isn’t swayed, giving a shrug of his shoulders, “We were going to V4 anyways. Allowing Lio onboard hasn’t cost us anything.”

“It cost sleep.” Galo mutters his rebuttal.

All these technicalities are making his brain hurt, especially as the light through the windows grows almost painful.

Ignis, eyes covered, remains unbothered. “Did you make contact with Remi?” He asks Aina, tapping at the dashboard.

Aina shields her eyes with her eyes, using her heel to swivel her seat towards him, “He’s waiting at the market with the buyer for Malg’s job. Our landing permissions have already been sorted, and he says he’s got a lead on the next job.”

Remi is the brains of the operation, to Galo — or, the skeleton holding everything together. He sets up their jobs and handles the contracts. He knows Ignis best, so it’s often that he’s sent ahead to negotiate on their behalf. The guy is a brick wall: no getting through anything he doesn’t want you to. He is what Galo aspires to be. The de facto leader without the presence of the actual leader, implicitly trusted.

“Galo — ” Ignis calls out to him without turning, “Fetch the kid. We’re ready to breach.”

“Got it.”

He’s sure he’s still sleeping, but nods anyways. He scrapes himself off of the chair and towards the personal bunks. If there’s a time where he has permission to yank the brat out of bed by the ankles, it’s now. Galo opens the door and to his mild disappointment, finds Lio sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You had nothing better to do?” He grumbles, wondering how long he’d just been waiting around.

Lio looks up at the influx of light, honestly looking better than before, but not at all like he’d just woken up, hair smoothed down and clothes settled. There is still a tight-wound tension in his small frame, like a cord pulled too tight.

“Would you rather have me wandering around the ship?” Lio glowers at him.

Rest had not resulted in a better mood.

“Hope you had a nice nap in  _ my _ bed,” Galo can't hide the sneer from his tone, motioning for Lio to follow him with a jerk of his thumb.

When they return to the cabin, Varys has appeared. He hovers over Aina’s shoulder and turns to greet them.

“This is Lio.” Ignis motions, turning to introduce him to both Varys and Aina.

Lio has the decency to mumble a hello, without the scowl that seems to be reserved for Galo. It’s infuriating, but Galo suppresses the urge to pick a fight with a clenched fist.

“We’re making our descent now. It’s the biggest marketplace on V4, located in the southern region of the planet,” Ignis explains, glossing over Lio’s addition to focus on the task at hand, “We’ve got a place in mind for you to pull credits, or do a transfer. It’s not far from where we’re set to dock.”

Lio nods his assent, expression neutral — even when told Galo is going to accompany him there and back.

“Any questions?”

For a second, it looks like Lio might not ask anything. He scratches at his cheek, avoiding their gazes to ask, “What kind of planet… is V4?”

It’s surprising that he’d be in this quadrant without knowing. Venus IV’s reputation often precedes itself as a veritable honeypot.

“You’ve never heard of it?” Varys voices his surprise.

Lio shrugs, a neutral motion up and down.

“It’s got some of the best and worst in this part of the galaxy,” Varys motions with big arms, excited at the opportunity to explain, “Best shopping, best recreation, best girls. But it’s also home to smugglers, traders, brothels — the works.”

Galo has been there twice, both times with this crew. Venus IV was scandalous as far as the government’s reputation was concerned. Not exactly banned, but not encouraged for recreation. He hasn’t run into any trouble prior, on account of Remi’s overbearing preparedness.

“The bad stuff only really comes out at night, so don’t worry too much,” Varys gives him a thumbs up, “There’s an underground part to the market but if you don’t look for it, you won’t find it. No problems.”

Lio nods, small. He’s feigning indifference, but something in the twist of his mouth tells Galo that he wants to ask something but doesn’t.

Aina huffs behind them, drawing attention, “Unless you’re a girl.”

The guys look on at her in varying stages of confusion.

“The marketplace guys are sleazy and grabby,” She scowls, wrapping her arms around herself, “I wouldn’t say this to the others, because  _ look at them _ , but you better watch out for guys with golden feathers on their clothes, Lio.”

Galo realizes she hasn’t stepped off ship on V4 the prior times they’ve visited; he hadn’t considered why until now. He doesn’t know anything about guys with golden feathers — but more than likely, he assumes they’re recruiters for some of the shadier parts of the local businesses.

Lio mirrors her sour look at the implication, but nods.

Varys claps him on the shoulder with a big grin, “Don’t worry! Galo’ll watch out for you!”

  
  


—

They dock with little issue. The door to the bay opens with a slow, mechanic whirring, revealing Remi and an entourage of locals. He shields his eyes with a hand pressed against his forehead, fanning himself with a clipboard.

“You’re late.” He says, flat. His gaze flickers to Lio, but he doesn’t offer any questions.

“We got a little sidetracked.” Ignis offers, stepping down the bay door to approach the guys Remi is with — seal the deal.

They titter at his approach. All are cloaked in the white, heat-reflectant robes of the local church. They’ve got black curved beaks peeking out of their robes, the only part revealed to the harshness of V4’s sun aside from the tips of their feathers poking from the sleeves.

It’s beyond hot, and muggy. Galo left his jacket and closed-toe shoes on the ship, and gleefully thinks if Lio had been nicer to him, he would’ve warned him rather than letting him melt to death in a jacket and boots.

He notices racks to offload the tanks and assumes Ignis will want their help before they depart.

“We’re off!” He says, instead, and waves his goodbyes, “We’ll be back soon, Cap!”

Varys and Remi should be able to handle the bulk of the load. Galo won’t volunteer for heavy labor on the cusp of exhaustion, if he can help it.

Ignis brushes off his goodbye with a dismissive wave of his hand. Galo ignores the unimpressed wave of stares from the rest of the crew, focusing instead on navigating his steps in the sand.

Lio falls in line with him, noticeably steady in the uneven terrain.

It’s early enough in the day that the market isn’t yet oversaturated with visitors. Merchants are in the process of setting up their stalls, placing goods on trays and hanging cloth over wood to offer protection from the sun. They’re all covered in cooling technology or long, distinctly light-colored fabrics to reflect the heat. Lio sticks out like a sore thumb in his dark pants and orange jacket.

There are bigger, white-clay buildings without doors behind some of the stalls and in the distance: some with multiple stories, and some covered in tapestries woven in bright colors. There’s the hum of chatter, music, and even the trickle of a fountain nearby.

Galo notices with a sidelong glance that Lio seems to be in awe, sticking close to his side as people pass by. He doesn’t mind the proximity, exactly, harboring his own suspicion that Lio will use the crowd as a means to escape. His own fatigue only adds to his paranoia.

“Why do you want to go to Detroit so bad, anyways?” He asks, cutting through the sounds of the market as they walk.

Lio shoots him a glance, “As your employer, I don’t have to divulge anything.”

It’s a snobby response to what he thought was a fair question. Galo scowls at him, “You’re not my boss.”

“One hundred and fifty billion credits speaks otherwise.”

“What’s a guy like you doing with that kind of money, anyways? Thief? You steal it?  _ Black widow? _ ”

“Family money — stop asking questions,” A roll of his eyes, and then Lio mutters, “You’re so annoying.”

Galo takes his eyes off of him to produce an eye roll of his own. The guy is damn near insufferable; they can’t have a two second conversation without some kind of barb. He’s never had an interaction with someone so prickly in his life — bar Biar, who looked at anyone that wasn’t Kray like they were something she had stepped in. Lio has her furrowed eyebrows down pat. He has the thought to leave him in the market and be done with it, payout be damned, and returns his attention to the space beside him to tell him just that —

only to realize Lio isn’t at his side.

He halts, whipping his head around to scan the area. A big group disperses around him, scattering slowly, but none of them look like Lio. Panic spikes straight from his belly, cutting through the residual tiredness to scramble his thoughts.

Galo traces his past few steps with stomped feet, bewildered at the idea that Lio could have slipped away so quickly — what the hell was he going to tell the crew? Ignis? He takes a big breath to start calling Lio’s name, but through a small window of people he notices Lio’s blonde head by a stall.

The panic melts into irritation and Galo stomps over to him, barely able to resist the urge to collar him by the nape.

Lio notices his approach, unaffected by his glare, and points at one of the sticks of meat on display. It doesn’t look like anything special, brown and sweating in the heat.

“I want that.” He says, tone a tad too vulnerable to be a demand.

Galo knows, through the haze of irritation, that the guy must be hungry after refusing food on the ship and sleeping so long.

“Use some of that family money to buy some, then.” He’s feeling the opposite of charitable right now, not when his pulse is still thrumming with adrenaline from the short lived chase. 

Lio blinks at him, and then frowns, “I obviously don’t have any of that right now.”

“Guess you’re out of luck then, huh?”

Lio glowers at him, but follows when Galo walks away, giving one last glance to stall. This time, Galo checks to make sure his steps match his own.

Their destination is a bar, not too far from the middle of the market — a brief distance from where Remi had the crew dock. The fluorescent lights are turned off and the entryway is dim. If he didn’t know better, the place looks closed.

Galo sighs when stepping through the entryway, sweat cooling in the darkened interior.

“Galo Thymos!” The barman notices him right away, arms lifting in greeting. He has hulking shoulders, nearly two heads taller than Galo in a way that reminds him of Varys — friendly in the same manner. He’d been their point of contact during the last job, allowing plenty of time for him and Galo to bond in the off hours.

“Hey bud — how ya doing?” He strides to the bar to lean over it, swiftly clapped into a bear hug.

He’s never had trouble making friends, friendly acquaintances. Lio seems to be the exception.

“Same as always!” Solon beams at him, “You here on another job? What can I get ya?”

“Same old, same old,” Galo leans on the cold ceramic of the counter, shrugging, “Just a glass of water.”

Solon nods, big head bobbing on his short neck. His gaze trails to Lio, who hovers just behind Galo’s shoulder, “You as well? This your girlfriend, Galo?”

Galo and Lio make a noise of disgust at the same time.

“No thanks,” Lio scowls, tone as polite as he can manage, “Can you tell me where your credit machine is?”

He holds his hand out to Galo, expectant — for the account details Galo scribbled down to complete the transfer.

“Right.” Galo mutters, digging in his back pocket and offering the scrap of paper.

“The credit machine is by the bathrooms, right over there.”

Galo cranes his neck to verify the machine is directly within sight. It’s on the opposite end of the bar, off-white and unassuming. The only entrance to this bar is right past where he’s standing, so Lio wouldn’t be able to slip out without warning. There are also no other patrons at this time of day, making his chances of blending in with a crowd nonexistent. He nods to Lio, feeling himself relax when he wanders away without another word. 

He mutters a thank-you for the glass of water as it’s pushed across the counter, gulping it down with relish. It soothes his still-raw nerves. The liquid settling in his stomach reveals something small, trapped in his gut. Guilt, or something a lot like it. He has to figure that Lio hadn’t meant to scare him earlier, he’d just been hungry and wandered off. Galo knows that feeling better than most; being swept away by the sweet, savory scent of something to eat after a long day.

“Hey — you don’t have anything to eat, do you?” Galo lowers his voice so it doesn’t travel across the vacant space of the bar; unwilling to let Lio think he was interested in his well being, at all. 

Solon blinks at him and then jerks his head behind him to a small pot bubbling on the stove.

“Just some noodles. It’s a little early for any kind of lunch special. You interested?”

Galo considers it and then grins, “That’d be great. Can we get it to go?”

Solon lifts the lid to peer in the pot, giving it a cursory stir. He hums, “It’ll be a bit before it’s ready, but no problem.”

The guilt vanishes like it had never been present — there’s no thing like bonding over a meal. Lio will have to at least give him a little appreciation for the food, and they can try and get on the same page. Detroit was a fair distance from V4, Galo didn’t want to spend it with a guy who won’t even talk to him.

“While we wait, you have to tell me all about the girl you were waiting on last time.” Galo shifts focus, wanting to relax further.

Solon goes off, eyes bright. He gushes about how sweet his date had been and reveals that they’ve been together ever since. She’s always waiting for him when he comes home and blows his cooking skills out of the atmosphere; he says he’s found his own personal slice of heaven being with her.

“It’d be nice to have a girl like that.” Galo laments, leaning on his hand to let out a dreamy sigh.

As soon as he makes contact with the skin of his cheek, he notices how warm it feels. It’s also slightly damp — less clammy, and more sticky with sweat. The formerly cool interior has become stuffy almost in seconds, like lingering along the edge of a campfire in a sweater slightly too thick. 

“Is it normally this hot in here?” He fans himself.

Solon blinks, a noticeable drop of sweat slipping off the flat of his chin, “Not usually...”

They share a look but their attention is swiftly seized by a sizzle of water behind the counter. The pot that had been quietly bubbling away rattles with the force of water boiling over, the gas flame leaping from below and along the sides of the metal.

Solon curses, snatching a towel to grab the handle, moving the metal to another burner before clicking off the flame entirely.

“S’never done that before.” He sounds stunned.

Galo lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe it against his wet face, darting a glance toward the front entrance — catching the tail-end glimpse of blonde hair passing by. Something about it doesn’t feel right, hair standing on end as the nearby air rapidly cools. The shirt drops against his stomach in shock.

He turns to look at the space in front of the credit machine, realizing Lio isn’t there. He isn’t anywhere— the entire bar void of the orange jacket that had been like a beacon.

“Did you see him leave?” Galo whirls on Solon.

“I didn’t..” He looks as surprised as Galo feels.

Galo runs towards the machine, careening into the open bathroom just to find it empty. There is no sign that anyone had been there, aside from a dirty scuff on the wall towards the open window. A shoe print.

He curses himself and tears out of the bar, losing Solon’s voice calling out to him in the crowd. There was no reason for him to let his guard drop that far, he berates himself for not just following him to the machine.

“Lio!” He yells, cupping his hand around his mouth, “LIO!”

He hopes to catch him off guard, catch a glimpse of his surprised face, but the people that wheel towards him in shock don’t resemble the stowaway at all. Galo pleads to those manning the stalls, but they serve him odd looks and shrugs.

“We’re too busy to notice someone just walking by, pal.” An older man grumbles.

Yet again, Galo is the face of a royal fuck up. The thought of returning to Ignis empty handed keeps him hustling along the street he’d seen the blonde head travel towards, parting groups with a rough shoulder and his pulse thudding in his throat. Lio was a shady guy from the start, he should have trusted his instinct.

He continues down the long strip of road, recognizing his entrance into a dodgier area by the slowing ebb of people. Galo halts in front of one of the deep stairwells diving into the ground, chest heaving. He considers that Lio might have gone into the underground market, despite Varys’ warning.

He places a foot on the first step, hesitant.

“Hey.” A woman’s voice pulls him from taking the next step, reaching out to him on the opposite side of the street.

Galo turns, noticing her scantily clad appearance and the cigarette between her long fingers weeping rose-tinted smoke.

“Who are you looking for?” She asks, not sultry but genuine.

“My... friend,” He takes a chance— a gamble, hoping that she recognizes true distress, “He’s tiny, blonde hair and too skinny for his own good. I think he got lost.”

Explaining the entire situation would take too long and only muddy the waters.

The woman nods and then points down the street, rather than the stairs, “He headed that way. Orange jacket, right?”

Galo gasps.

“Yes— thank you!” He nearly runs up to her to shake her hands but can’t waste another second, instead resuming full speed down the road.

“Hope you find who you’re looking for.”

  
  


—

  
  


Lio huffs out a relieved breath as Galo’s footsteps finally fade, echoing in the near empty street. For a moment, he’d underestimated his stupidity; he’d thought after the suspicion in the market, he’d never lose him.

The woman returns, the beaded curtains pinging off of each other in a soft waterfall of clicks as she wades through them.

“Are you alright?” She asks, gently.

Lio pushes himself off of the wall he had pressed himself again, nodding, “Yes— thank you, truly. I didn’t know what to do.”

She had witnessed him barrelling down the long street and turn towards the dark stairs, but called out before he could scramble down them. She recognized his fear, or at least she thought she had, and offered him a place to hide.

“Don’t worry! We’ve all dealt with guys like that!” There’s a chorus of support from the other girls in the room. They’re crowded around— women of various races, ages, species— clad in robes of thin material, and dripping golden jewelry. He’s finally able to get a good look around with his relief; spotting rows of beds, trunks stuffed full of personal goods, cosmetic tables, perfume bottles. The air is stagnant with the scent of roses and cloves. Tapestries and other fabrics cascade over the walls, making the room feel warm. There are various trinkets littering what would be free space— it looks as though their entire lives are compressed in this room.

They assumed Galo was his boyfriend; a scumbag from the market that was trying to hurt him.

“Have I caused you trouble by being here?” He asks, recognizing these women for what they are. Brothel workers.

He’s not naive enough to not notice the deep cut of their clothes and the circumstances that keep them here. There’s a shred of worry that they could get in trouble for bringing a man into their space, a sliver of a guilt.

“It’s not a problem.” The woman who had helped him has a husky lull to her voice, commanding and as she sits on the edge of one of the closest beds, “We’re allowed to come and go as we please. You have a pretty enough face to be among us. I doubt it caught untoward attention.”

It’s the third time his looks have been commented on, something that usually elicits irritation but he feels his neck grow hot instead. She’s beautiful— they all are, well groomed and soft.

One of the women motions to a gold cuff on her arm, feathers interlocking over one another in a ringed pattern, “They keep track of us, anyways.”   


Lio mulls over the information, doubting that any of them have a route off of the planet if they’re tracked every moment of the way.

“That… man was my only way off of this planet,” He says, selective in his word choice, “Is there somewhere nearby that I could send a comm? Somewhere I won’t risk getting in too much trouble?”

The girls share looks, murmuring. He catches bits and pieces, but notices how the woman on the bed watches him with interest.

“You’re not from here?” She asks, perceptive.

Lio holds her gaze, feeling a bit like he’s caught in the gaze of a predator that can’t decide whether to strike or pad away. It’s not dissimilar to the glint of Ignis’ glasses in the low light of the engine room, a calculating blankness.

He opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by a cry of pain, ending their standoff to spot the source.

It’s a woman in one of the beds— a small, visibly shaking lump not far from where Lio is standing. Lio watches the crowd of women part to give the bed space, aside from one of the girls peeling back the covers.

“Is she okay?” He asks.

“She’s ill.” The woman with the cuff speaks, eyebrows knitted in concern.

“She’s new.” Their leader answers, not removing her gaze from Lio’s face, “She’s only been here for a few weeks but is too sick to work.”

“Why isn’t she being treated?” He’s confused. It doesn’t make sense to have a worker so ill she’s bedridden— it’s a waste of an investment on their part.

“They don’t know how.” Someone offers, soft.

Lio flicks his gaze to their leader, questioning. In part, because he wants to know how they could possibly not know, and in part because he feels like he’s being given a lot of unnecessary information.

“She’s burnish.” She says, simply.

Lio feels his heart jump into his throat, wariness sapped from him and replaced with shock. He tries to comprehend how she would’ve been brought here— when Kray had told him his people were being kept in the capitol during negotiations. He should’ve known better than to listen to the words of a serpent.

His shock sits for a moment too long, the girls mistaking it for disgust.

Even those as far as Venus IV must know the Burnish’s reputation according to Federation propaganda— a society of bloodthirsty criminals rebelling against a peaceful government, desiring to remain a land of debauchery and sin. Rather than the truth of a people who don’t want to be puppeteered by outside sources, or have all of their planetary resources stripped and defiled. The Burnish have been quarantined to their own world while there are ongoing negotiations; there shouldn’t be anyone out this far that hasn’t already been weeded out or captured by Federation forces.

“Just because she’s Burnish doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with her.”

“I’m Burnish, too.” Lio admits, so soft he’s not sure he really said it.

The group mirrors his own shock at his confession, a small sea of wide eyes peering at him.

“What’s her name?” He asks, hyperfocused on the shaking heap.

“Thyma.”

Recognition pings in his brain, from the most recent log of people taken from their planet— a passenger ship Lio has been trying to track down. The entire reason he left his home world.

Lio confirms her identity after stepping through the crowd, recognizing the curly texture of her hair even as it sags against the pillow. Her skin is paler in her poor health, but he knows it. He’d memorized every ID from the logs on that ship; burned their faces into his mind and soul, promised each one he would return them home. To know that the people on the ship may have been distributed, sold off like stock and animals to the point where he might never find them again— it’s devastating.

“What can I do to get her out of here?”

A murmur spreads through the crowd at his question.

“What do you mean?”

Lio turns to face them entirely, teetering between total honesty and half truths when the woman’s calculating eyes meet his. They’ve done nothing to harm him, thus far, but there’s nothing to prevent it in the future. Especially if he gives too much away.

“I came to this planet to find my people— Thyma. I’ve been looking for her and others like her. The people who were on the ship with her, I want to take them home. Did she come with anyone else?”

He surveys the group, but they don’t seem to have a definitive answer.

“She came at the auction,” One offers, “But we don’t go to those. We wouldn’t know if there was anyone else.”

“We can be bought out of contract, but it’s very rare,” Another chimes in, “The big boss has to agree… It’s only happened once before and it was to a market goon.”

“Otherwise?” Lio feels sick.

“You have to work to buy out of the contract… Since she’s not working…”

“She won’t be able to go.” The leader finishes, definitive.

Lio clenches his fists at his side, grappling with what to do. He had anticipated only worrying about himself until coming upon the ship, but he absolutely can not leave Thyma here to fend for herself. He’s at a loss of what to do— the situation the very definition of a wrench in his plans. His people are the reason for everything, he can’t bear more suffering.

He nearly jumps when clammy fingers grasp his wrist, Thyma reaching from the bed to hold onto him. She looks at him, imploring and sunken eyes brimming with recognition. She speaks but her voice is so hoarse it doesn’t reach his ears. Lio unclenches his fist to slip his hand into hers, feeling the heat of a flame dance between their clasped palms as soon as the skin makes contact. Her blanket has shifted far enough to reveal a gold cuff on the upper muscle of her thin arm.

His uncertainty morphs at the mark of possession, shifting into anger— ignited in his chest.

“How do I get rid of the cuff?”

There’s a silence, hesitance that fills the room. Then, the small zip of a laser. The leader lights her cigarette, soft features illuminated red by the glow of the tip. She exhales a pink miasma from her lips, eyes ever trained on him.

“I might have an idea.” She says, “If you can offer me your name, stranger.”

Lio can’t shake the wariness of an animal about to be devoured. Despite this, he feels as though he has no choice.

“It’s Lio.”

“I’m Callista... Let’s work to get your girl out of here.”

  
  


—

  
  


Lio heaves against the side of a clay building, throat filled with acid from the strain of running. He’s cornered and unsure. He thought he knew where Callista had told him the clinic was, but he must’ve taken a wrong turn.

If there had been a clinic at all.

He can hear his pursuers behind him— pissed and forcing their way through a crowd, eliciting shrieks and panic. It’s not unlike being chased by Kray’s goons, but he’s not on his own this time. Thyma shivers against his back, legs loosely hooked around his waist. It’s mainly his grip keeping her steady; she couldn’t run if he needed her to.

Securing a key to the cuff had been simple enough. He’d snagged it off a guard in the main building of the brothel, using his small stature to his advantage. But then, he’d been accosted on his way out, courtesy of his delicate face— it had all fallen apart when they noticed the metal dangling from his fingers.

Lio had managed to make it back to Thyma, but they’d caught up to him by the time he had scooped her from the bed.

He considers unleashing hell— burning the entire place to the ground, but can’t yet reach the cold part of him deep within that is willing to put innocent lives at risk.

Lio pushes off of the wall with a grunt, swaying just slightly with the extra weight. He feels like a rat trapped in a maze, scurrying down a narrow alleyway. He’ll be caught, he knows he’ll be caught, but he can’t condemn Thyma to that fate. He scans for a place to stow her, hide her— removing the cuff can’t be for nothing.

Hurrying along the long wall of a building, he notices a narrow gap in the ground. A quick scan, and he recognizes it as the opening of a drainage pipe. Without additional options or time to consider, he peels her off of his back and lowers her limp body into the shallow gap. He’s thankful to see that the sides are bone dry.

She all but crumples, her whimpers echoing in the cramped space.

“I’ll be back for you,” He promises when her eyes seek out his, “I need to lose them first.”

Lio waits for her weak nod before returning to his feet. He peels the jacket from his back, cradling the orange material in his arms like he’s still holding someone. Then, he runs. In the muffled air of the alley, hearing only the distant chatter of the crowd and his own pound of boots against sand, he hopes they might not turn their attention this way.

“There!” His hopes are dashed as he reaches the end.

Lio darts out of the cool shade and into the street, running with everything he’s got. 

He anticipates a sharp turn around a corner, but the tip of his left boot hits something jutting from the ground and he’s falling into the sand. His stomach, still slightly raw, flares in agony at the hard impact. Lio scrabbles to get back to his feet but someone jumps on his back— crushing the air from his lungs and knocking his chin into the ground, the sand scraping the skin from his jaw.

He’s surrounded quickly, not just from thugs but onlookers who have nothing better to do. They chatter, murmur— their speculations a distant buzzing in his ringing ears, marveling at his suffering without more consideration than they would give a novelty.

“Well, well, well.” The big thug he’d swindled the key from crouches in front of him, taunting. He’s sweaty, disgusting— taking giant, heaving breaths and puffing them right in Lio’s face, “Looks like we caught a bug.”

Lio clenches his teeth, feeling the grit of sand as he does so; reaching out a hand, to do anything— burn, incinerate,  _ kill _ — but a heavy boot comes down on his wrist, crushing it.

“The girl isn’t here, boss.” He hears, in the distance.

“It’s not ideal,” The big one grins, “But it’s not as though we don’t have options.

The suggestion kicks Lio’s elbow back into the guy perched on him— he feels the clack of teeth against bone, giving him just enough leeway until the boot on his wrist meets his nose. A crack. Lio hisses, dizzy with watering eyes— watching the blood clump into the sand below his face, hot red running down his chin.

The man waves the key in front of him. A gold feather insignia glints in the light, mocking.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been two months??? idk how that happened TT (well I do, senior year of college started lol rip) as always, thank u so much for supporting something ongoing ♡ I know it's a risk, but we can get through this together!!!
> 
> Lio, Lio, Lio, what have u gotten urself into???? it was exciting to delve into his backstory and motivations a little, hopefully the jumping around wasn't too confusing
> 
> please please _please_ let me know what u think and if anything stuck out to u, I'd love to know what!!! Please feel free to leave a kudos if u enjoyed
> 
> I finally started using my twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/sasuke_anti). I need people to follow so please feel free to engage me there!!!! 
> 
> Have a great week and stay safe!! Drink some water ♡♡♡♡♡ I do have plans to update this during US Thanksgiving week, as a "sorry for taking two months to get my shit together", see you then!!!


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